


Spooky Scary Stories

by JazzRaft



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Campfires, Friendship, Gen, Slice of Life, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 03:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21229415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: Noctis wants to hear a ghost story. Ignis has the perfect one to scare them all.





	Spooky Scary Stories

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 5 of FFXV Halloween Week, Around the Campfire. Also on [tumblr!](https://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/188682523452/spooky-scary-stories)

“Aww, c’mon Specs! You tell it the best.”

Ignis aimed a firm stare at Noct, trying to impress upon him the enormity of his exhaustion. It failed, as it always did, not because Noctis was callously indifferent to his friend’s fatigue, but because said friend had a weakness for the prince’s childish pout and begging blue eyes. It didn’t help that he had both Prompto and Gladio backing him up this time, all three of them gazing up at Ignis in forlorn expectation.

Puppies, all of them. And he the old housecat who must suffer their every indulgence. Ignis sighed, pressing thumb and forefinger beneath each of his eyes. His fingertips were cold from the autumn night air, lending just enough shock to his weary brain to get through Noct’s request.

“Fine, fine,” he said, resuming his seat beside the campfire. “But only if you all finish this stew.”

“What a high price to pay,” Gladio drawled, slurping up a deliberate spoonful from his bowl.

Mushroom stew was one of the few dishes that ranked somewhere between neutral and pleased among the three of them. Disguised in enough rich, cream-based broth, the mushrooms could have easily passed for any other of the more popular proteins preferred among them. It was a hardy, warming, harvest stew that he thought served as a perfect complement to the arid Duscaen evening. The moon was full between the whispering pines, the night an orchestra of crickets in the reeds, frogs croaking by the Slough, and the howls of voreteeth calling their pack to their dens for the night.

The daemons would be out soon. Ignis thought that he could already hear the chittering of goblins in the darkness. If he cast his gaze beyond the safety of their campfire, he could just start to see the ghastly, grinning fae lights of the bombs bobbing between the bushes.

Of course Noctis wanted to hear a ghost story. This was his favorite time of the year for it. Ever since they were children, sitting by the Citadel’s massive fireplace while the mid-autumn thunderstorms berated the windows, he’d always been enchanted by the supernatural folk tales chronicled in the royal library.

Some things never did change, Ignis thought, unable to suppress his wistful smile as Noctis scraped his fold-out chair closer. He hugged his soup bowl to his face, taking slow, purposeful spoons full while he waited for Ignis to start. Ignis looked to the campfire for inspiration, at the eager and anxious faces of Gladio and Prompto, respectively, glowing as orange as pumpkins in the light. Gladio loved some good suspense, and Prompto hated a good scare.

Iggy’s tale had a little something for everyone. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, picturing the one he wanted to tell in his head before trying to give it words.

“Very well then. Though I must warn you. This isn’t so much a story as it is a record of actual events. It’s a rather harrowing ordeal, one I prefer not to speak of often…”

He paused for dramatic effect, gauging Prompto’s reaction, specifically, to the implication that he would be recounting a true event that happened to himself. The audible gulp from him when he realized this would be a personal ghost story was well worth the melodrama.

“I was working in the kitchens late one night. Trying to perfect that pastry recipe Noct loves so much. I was just about ready to lock up for the evening. Turned off the oven, wiped down the counters, turned down the lights…”

“Why would you do that?” Prompto said in an anxious hush.

Ignis went on like he hadn’t heard him: “The lights were out and I was headed for the door, when I heard something from the pantry. Odd, I thought, as I was the only one there so late. Perhaps a stray cat had found its way inside. Or maybe Noct was hiding another potential pet he wanted to keep. I turned back into the kitchen and walked towards the pantry doors. It was hard to see through the moonlight…”

“Just turn on the light!”

“Shhh!”

“It was hard to see through the moonlight, but I noticed that the pantry doors were ajar. I was certain that I’d just made sure they were locked before leaving. As I was standing there, pondering this, I heard a noise again. It sounded like rough cloth dragging against the tile, with the tiny patter of feet. I thought it was a rat, caught in a flour sack perhaps.

‘But then I heard another sound. This one more familiar. I’d heard it a thousand times before… It was the switch of a knife being pulled from its mount. I couldn’t see where it came from. But I saw the shadow cast by the moonlight. I saw the round, hooded silhouette against the wall, and the small, sinister point of the knife from its robes. I swear I must have seen the glow of its lantern underneath the counter, pacing back and forth in search of a sharper knife.

‘I must have made a sound. Because the pacing suddenly stopped. Like it was listening for me. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to flee for the kitchen door, quickly as I could. I heard its footsteps come rushing after me, heard the clatter of its lantern swinging as it moved. The door was locked when I reached it. I pulled, but it wouldn’t come free. I spun around to look for another way out. I saw it there, on the kitchen floor, gliding beneath its dense brown robes, the orange glow of its lantern lighting its green face, its horrible yellow eyes, the terrible glint of its butcher’s knife coming for me…

‘And then the lights switched on. The head chef had opened the door behind me. He had come back down to check on me. When I looked back into the kitchen, there was nothing there at all.”

He let the last word ooze out over the crackling fire, sending it chill down the spines of his captive audience. At some point, Prompto had found one of their sleeping bags and bundled it to his chest, as if that was sufficient protection from the ghastly ghoul summoned in his imagination. Gladio had sat forward, elbows on his knees, big brown eyes shining with excitement. Noctis just smiled, greedily eating his soup like it was a bowl of popcorn until they both finished.

“We never spoke of it again,” Ignis finished. “And I never stayed in the Citadel kitchens after midnight once more.”

“I’ll bet!” Prompto squealed. “What the hell, man!”

“Nice,” Gladio chuckled, giving the story his seal of approval.

“Not nice!” Prompto countered. “Do you know how many times I’ve been in that kitchen? Never again!”

Noctis gulped down the rest of his soup, setting the bowl aside. He froze, suddenly, his face stricken as he looked past the boundaries of their campsite into the woods. “Hey,” he said, his voice low. “Do you guys hear that? I think… Ignis do you hear it?”

“Indeed,” Ignis intoned, following his lead. “I’ve sharpened enough knives to know that sound.”

“Dudes!” Prompto squeaked. “Don’t even!”

“I think I might see a lantern…”

Prompto threw his sleeping bag at Noctis, catching his sputtering laughter like a fish in a net. He fled to the tent a moment later, hiding behind the runic wards and canvas flaps so the tonberries couldn’t get him.

“Poor kid’s never gonna get any sleep,” Gladio laughed. “You need any help cleaning up, Iggy?”

“I’ll take care of it. Off to bed with you two. I’ll be in shortly.”

Gladio thanked him for the story and Noctis thanked him for dinner, then yawned and stretched and slid inside with the sleeping bag still draped over his head. Ignis tucked away his bowls and utensils for cleaning in the morning. The fire had dwindled down to its last embers by the time he was finished. He was just putting his own kitchen knife away when he heard it. And when he glanced up to the wilderness, he knew it wasn’t in his imagination.

A small, orange glow crept through the bushes beyond camp. The wink of two yellow eyes peered from the brush. And in the moonlight, Ignis swore he saw the tip of a blade flash in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Aithilin for helping me figure out what story Ignis wanted to tell the boys!


End file.
